The Golden Years
by whydoineedapenname
Summary: Series of one-shots and short tales taking place during the golden years of Arthur's rule. For those who wish we had seen more of the characters' interactions while they were all still living. Some lighthearted, others serious. Mainly Merlin and knights-centric.
1. Of Helms and Magic

"Sire, if you have a moment," Gaius inquired, opening the door to the king's chambers and leaning inside.

"Of course, Gaius. What is it?" Arthur asked. He looked up from a speech he was reading.

"Have you noticed there is a great deal of head injuries among the knights, particularly you and Sir Gwaine?" Gaius said, stepping into the room.

"What do you mean?" Arthur set down the speech.

"Well, it seems every time you return from a quest, one of you had been knocked unconscious, by magic or otherwise."

"Yes, that is true. But we are knights. That is the nature of our work."

"Perhaps you could wear some type of head protection similar to the helms worn at tournaments. Such a measure would prevent many injuries."

"Helms, you say?"

"Yes, sire. Physicians in many kingdoms say that jostling the brain causes loss of consciousness, and when there is too much jostling in a lifetime, one's memory and function can be lost."

"And this can be prevented by wearing helms on patrol and missions?"

"I believe so, sire."

"Have that looked into. I want my men exposed to as little danger to their wellbeing as possible."

"As you please," Gaius bowed and departed from the chambers.

Later that evening, Gaius and Merlin were discussing their respective days over bowls of stew. As Gaius related his mission to reduce concussions among the knights, Merlin stopped eating.

"Gaius," he said, spoon in midair. "What did you just say?"

"Why?"

"I thought you always looked out for me. Made sure I wasn't discovered, and all that."

"I do. What has that got to do with anything?"

"Has it occurred to you that, aside from my general agility and sharp mind, the knights' frequent unconsciousness has helped to keep my magic secret? The reason no one knows I have magic is they have not been able to notice!"

"Lancelot knows."

"Yes, but that was different. He is the only one who knows, and I would very much like to keep it that way."

"Alright, Merlin," Gaius sighed. "What do you think we should do?"

"I have an idea," Merlin grinned. He got up from the table and hurried from their rooms, leaving Gaius to shake his head at the uneaten stew.

Merlin, meanwhile, was on his way to the knights' quarters to seek out his friend, whom he found watching a bout of arm wrestling.

"Lancelot," he whispered. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

Lancelot glanced at his friend and nodded, then led the way to his chamber.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I need a favor," Merlin began.

"I am going to regret this, am I not?" Lancelot replied in resignation, gesturing at Merlin to continue.

The next day, Gaius again approached the king's chambers.

"Ah, Gaius," Arthur greeted him. "Have you made any progress on the acquisition of helms?"

"I have, sire," Gaius answered. "But I thought a trial might be more useful to test the benefits and downsides of a helm. As a matter of fact, Sir Lancelot has volunteered for the duty. He will wear a helm and spar with you one-on-one."

"Lancelot is acknowledged to be the best swordsman amongst the knights of Camelot."

"If he is defeated in combat, then the risks of a helm outweigh the benefits," Gaius concluded.

"That will do his ego some good," Arthur commented as they departed for the training fields.

"You mean your ego?" Gaius whispered under his breath.

"What was that you said?" Arthur turned around.

"Nothing, sire. Just talking to myself."

In a tent on the training field, Merlin was helping Lancelot to fasten on a helm.

"This is a big favor you are asking, Merlin," Lancelot said.

"I know," Merlin replied. "And I thank you for it."

"You know I would do anything for a friend. But this will not be good for Arthur."

"Not good for Arthur? What do you mean?"

"He will think himself the better swordsman," Lancelot laughed. He slapped Merlin on the shoulder before lifting the flap of the tent. "Have you not always complained of his high view of himself?"

Shortly thereafter, the clashing of swords rang out. Throngs of soldiers gathered to watch as Arthur and Lancelot engaged each other. Some thought they were evenly matched, while others noticed something odd about Sir Lancelot. Whenever he had the king at an advantage, he would hesitate and stumble slightly, as though his balance or vision was affected. Finally, Arthur launched himself at his opponent until Lancelot's sword went flying in one direction while Lancelot himself went another, hitting the ground with a thud amidst the cheers of the crowd, always appreciative of a good fight.

Arthur offered a hand to his knight, helping him off the ground.

"What happened there, Lancelot?" he asked, a hint of smugness in his voice.

Lancelot ripped off the helm.

"I really could not say."

"It's alright, you can blame it on the helm," Arthur said. "But we both know what happened."

"Yes, we do," Lancelot agreed. They both walked to where Merlin and Gaius were standing.

"Sire," Gaius said, with a knowing glance at Merlin. "Perhaps I was too hasty in my proposal. The helm may not be such a good idea."

"No, indeed not," Arthur replied. "Is that right, Lancelot?"

Lancelot grimaced but said nothing. They all watched as Arthur strode into the castle.

"You owe me, Merlin."

And readers, this is why our friends only wear helms during controlled tournaments and not during the more dangerous swordfights, and why they continually get knocked unconscious episode after episode.


	2. Of Flus and Dressers

In which Sir Leon is once again unable to take part in Arthur's adventures, and Sir Percival is tasked with an unusual mission.

* * *

The rays of morning sunlight penetrated the curtains and made their way onto a sleeping face.

"Mmph," Sir Leon groaned, turning over sleepily to get away from the radiant light. Just when he was about to reenter a state of dreaming, birds began chirping outside his window.

Sighing in resignation, the good knight opened his eyes and sat up in bed. Rather, he attempted to sit up in bed but found himself hit with a dizzy spell. Falling back on the pillows, he took note of the sore throat, pounding head, and aching muscles. Sir Leon briefly thought about the patrol he was to lead that morning before succumbing to the undeniable compulsion to drift off to sleep again.

An hour later, red-cloaked Camelot knights milled around the courtyard, waiting for the leader of the patrol to make his appearance.

"Where do you think he is?" one knight whispered to another.

"I'm not sure," his companion replied. "But here comes the king."

Arthur strode down the stairs leading to the courtyard and surveyed the group with a frown. They were missing a member, a certain man with a head of curls.

"Where is Sir Leon?" he asked. No one gave a response.

"Well?" Arthur demanded.

Finally, a knight spoke.

"We don't know, sire."

"What do you mean you don't know?" he shot back.

Turning to his servant lingering at the foot of the stairs, he said, "Merlin, find Sir Leon's whereabouts, and do it quickly!"

Merlin headed straight for Sir Leon's room, because he did not know where else to begin. Sir Leon was normally the most responsible knight Merlin knew, so imagine the young man's surprise when he found the knight still abed.

"Sir Leon!" Merlin cried. "Wake up! You are late for the patrol."

Sir Leon groaned again for the second time that morning. "Merlin, I do not think I can lead the patrol today. Or tomorrow. Or any day this week."

"I will fetch Gaius," Merlin responded quickly. "And then I will let Arthur know."

"Better notify the king first, knowing his impatience," Sir Leon had the wits to remind Merlin. "Then fetch the physician."

Arthur was not pleased about the alteration in plans, but he was not an unreasonable king either.

"Rest and recover your strength, Sir Leon," he told the ill man. "I will find one of the knights to take your place."

"Thank you, sire."

Merlin followed Arthur out of Sir Leon's rooms, noting the furrowed brow of his king.

"Is anything the matter, sire?" he asked as they reached the king's chambers and closed the doors.

"There is no one else I can trust for this mission," Arthur said as he sat down at his desk.

"But all of your knights are trustworthy," Merlin answered, confused. "Sir Elyan, Sir Lancelot, Sir Percival, Sir Gwaine, even Sir Bors—"

"I do not doubt their loyalty one bit," Arthur cut him off.

"Then what is it?"

"Sir Leon is the very paragon of Camelot's knighthood—"

"I think the other knights of the Round Table would beg to differ," Merlin said under his breath.

Arthur glared at his servant but decided to ignore the interruption.

"He is the very paragon of Camelot's knighthood," he continued. "He demonstrates courage, chivalry, temperance, fortitude, tact, and leadership. These are all qualities required on this patrol, and I fear not all the knights possess them."

"What is so special about this patrol?" Merlin asked.

"They will be patrolling the forest near an old hermit's dwelling."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Merlin commented.

"No, except there are dangerous beasts roaming about."

"Then send Sir Gwaine," Merlin suggested. "He has braved many encounters with man and beast."

"No," Arthur countered. "The patrol will most likely come upon the hermit, and Gwaine's quick temper may be a hindrance."

"Alright. What about Sir Lancelot? He is very calm and even-tempered."

"Lancelot does not yet command the respect of all the men," Arthur sighed. "Some still recall his false claims of nobility many years ago."

"That was ages ago!" Merlin protested. "Well, what about Sir Elyan?"

"Elyan is too inexperienced in military matters."

"And Sir Percival? He can surely command respect and act in a reasonable manner," Merlin argued.

"Yes, perhaps," Arthur mused. "Go and tell Percival I require his presence at once."

"Yes, sire," Merlin made his way to the door.

"Wait!" Arthur stopped him. "We cannot send Sir Percival."

"What now?" Merlin could not contain his exasperation.

"I sent Percival on a very important quest, and he will be unavailable for the next several days," Arthur said cryptically, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. Merlin scrutinized him closely.

"What exactly is Sir Percival doing right now?"

Arthur fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the table, but finally gave in.

"Several days ago, Guinevere expressed a desire for a new dresser," he paused.

"Go on," Merlin nodded encouragingly.

"She recalled a dresser from her childhood, built by her father for her birthday. She said it would gladden her to have one just like it."

"And you offered to have one made just like it," Merlin inserted.

"Well, yes," Arthur said. "And no."

"What do you mean?" Merlin gave him a puzzled look.

"I offered to build one myself," Arthur admitted.

"Is this like the time you offered to cook dinner for her?" Merlin retorted. "You don't know the first thing about cooking, and you certainly don't know a thing about carpentry!"

"Yes, but fortunately Sir Percival was once apprenticed to a carpenter," Arthur said triumphantly.

"Ah, I see," understanding dawned on Merlin. Then a new idea dawned on him as well.

"Why don't you go on the patrol yourself?" he said excitedly. "You can tell Gwen that you are taking a few days to build the armoire, and Sir Percival will lead the patrol. Then, outside the gates, you and Percival can exchange places and Gwen will be none the wiser!"

"Merlin," Arthur looked at his servant in wonder. "Sometimes you actually do appear to have a brain. We will leave at noon."

A few hours later, two parties were ready to set out. Sir Percival sat on his horse at the head of the patrol, and Arthur and Merlin led a horse laden with carpentry tools. The queen embraced her husband and sent them off with a gentle wave. Once both parties passed the confines of the town, Percival dismounted.

"In three days' time, I will be finished," he said to Arthur.

"Good. That is how long the patrol should last. Do not enter Camelot until we return," Arthur instructed.

"Do not worry, Arthur," Percival said with a grin. "I am fully aware of the consequences of the queen's anger should she discover your—our—deception."

The king took his place at the head of the patrol and started his horse on a trot, pretending not to notice the knowing glances and snickers of the knights.

Their ride to the destination was uneventful. Even so, Merlin was relieved when they finally stopped.

"Why do you have to be so nervous, Merlin?" Arthur teased.

"I'm sorry, I just keep thinking something is about to happen," Merlin replied. "Like all the other times."

"Don't be such a girl," Arthur rolled his eyes. "This is a routine patrol. Nothing is going to happen."

"Oh, so all that about 'dangerous beasts roaming around' and an old irascible hermit was just talk?"

"Well," Arthur backtracked a bit. "Nothing usually happens. Now where's supper?"

Meanwhile, Sir Percival sought out the perfect tree out of which to make a dresser for his queen. He wandered here and there, laying an occasional hand on one tree before shaking his head and moving to the next.

Even though he enjoyed the company of his fellow knights, solitude was something he rarely found these days, and he aimed to make the most of it. Before joining Arthur's court, he lived in a small village with his family, hiring himself out for odd jobs here and there. Percival thought he would find peace settling down in Camelot, but he missed the freedom and spontaneity that sometimes accompanied his former life.

This newest tree he found hummed with life beneath his hand. It had the right texture and firmness for a durable yet beautiful dresser. As Sir Percival readied himself to swing his axe, he sensed a sudden movement behind him and barely had time to raise the tool in defense before a sword swung toward him. A clash of metal rang out as the blade glanced off the head of the axe.


	3. Of Axes and Hermits

In which Sir Percival faces his challenging mission and Arthur the consequences of his actions.

* * *

As Sir Percival readied himself to swing his axe, he sensed a sudden movement behind him and barely had time to raise the tool in defense before a sword swung toward him. A clash of metal rang out as the blade glanced off the head of the axe.

He quickly disengaged and was about to deliver a counterblow when he checked his movement upon recognizing his opponent.

"Gwaine!" he cried and averted his axe just in time.

Sir Gwaine, who did not seem worried that an axe had passed within inches of his head, had already sheathed his sword.

"Well met, Percival," he grinned.

"What are you doing here? And what were you thinking? I could have killed you!"

"Yeah, well," Sir Gwaine shrugged. "I did catch you off guard, did I not?"

Inwardly, Percival groaned. His vision of three days of peace and quiet had vaporized the moment his friend stepped onto the scene.

"I'm busy," Percival said in response. "On the king's business."

"The king's business," Gwaine echoed. "Huh."

"You still have not said why you are here."

"Gwen sent me. It seems she was worried something might befall her beloved, and asked me to ride after him. Imagine my surprise when I found you here instead!"

To this, Percival said nothing. For one, he was a man of few words. Also, he was beginning to feel uneasy about the plan Arthur had cooked up. From his experience, he had noticed that for some reason, even the best laid plans of King Arthur tended to go awry, and secret missions most of all.

"I suppose I'll have to stay here with you until the mission is over," Gwaine said airily as he stretched out near a fallen log.

"Oh no," Percival disagreed, shaking his head resolutely. "No no. You cannot stay here with me."

"Why, Percival," Gwaine exclaimed, sitting up. "I am hurt to hear you say that."

"Nothing personal! You see, Gwen sent you to protect Arthur," Percival reasoned. "And since Arthur is not here, you must travel on until you find him."

"Much as I hate to admit it, on this occasion you are right," Gwaine sighed.

He and Percival shook hands before he again rode off after Arthur. Percival, meanwhile, heaved a sigh of relief and resumed his dresser-making mission, congratulating himself on his resourcefulness and quick thinking.

Several leagues from this conversation, Merlin set about lighting the campfire to prepare supper.

"You know, Merlin, after all these years, one would think you would be better at starting a fire," Arthur commented.

Merlin ignored him and whispered an incantation. When merry flames leapt from the wood, he looked at Arthur.

"What was that you were saying?" he asked.

"It was about time," Arthur said, shaking his head at his manservant. Suddenly, he stiffened.

"Quiet!" he commanded, raising his hand to signal everyone. All the soldiers stilled while Merlin tried to stir the stew as quietly as possible, but only succeeded in dropping the ladle in the metal pot with a clang.

"Sorry," he mouthed as Arthur cringed. The king, hand on the hilt of his sword, glanced around the clearing, trying to discern from which direction he had heard a sound before. The soldiers shifted restlessly, straining their hearing as well.

The silence was broken as savage yells were heard. Seconds later, bandits poured into their camp and the men of Camelot found themselves fighting on all sides. They were outnumbered but were better trained and better armed. Arthur found himself fighting two ruffians simultaneously, while Merlin attempted to stay out of the fray, dropping branches and tripping bandits when he saw the opportunity.

"Merlin!" he heard Arthur's warning and looked up to see a man, larger than even Percival, brandishing a sword and making straight at him. Merlin backed up as quickly as he could, managing to pick up an abandoned sword.

The man lunged at him. Merlin parried his strike, but the bandit was so strong that the force of the blow caused Merlin to drop his sword. He backpedaled again, casting his eyes about to find something with which to defend himself. Unfortunately, he was not paying attention to where he was stepping and stumbled over a tree root, landing defenseless on his back. The bandit sneered in delight and brought his sword swiftly down to skewer him. Without thinking, Merlin rolled to the right and barely avoided impalement. Having been denied the first time, the bandit roared and planted his right foot squarely on Merlin's chest, preventing him from any further movement.

From the other side of the clearing, Arthur saw his servant's predicament. He speedily dispatched his current opponent and sprinted toward Merlin, but he was too far away; he knew he would not be able to reach Merlin in time.

All of a sudden, a figure burst from the trees behind Merlin and halted the downward descent of the bandit's blade. With a flurry of swordplay, the newcomer drove the larger man back. Merlin quickly scrambled back to his feet. He glanced at the man who saved his life and recognized his friend Gwaine. Arthur meanwhile had also made his way across the clearing and, after a surprised nod of acknowledgment at Gwaine, joined him in fighting the bandit. Two against one, the king and knight of Camelot were able to defeat him and bring down the last of the attackers.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked breathlessly as he surveyed the results of the skirmish. Several of the knights were injured, but most were relatively unscathed.

"Oh you know," Gwaine answered casually. "Saving your life once again."

"Really, how did you know we were here?" Merlin asked.

"Gwen asked me to come after you, because she had a feeling you might be in danger," Gwaine explained. Here he looked at Arthur in amusement. "I happened upon Percival."

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes but only half succeeded.

"It's a good thing you found us, or else Merlin here would be in a much worse state," he finally said, avoiding the topic altogether.

Merlin grinned at Gwaine in gratitude. Before he could say anything else, however, they were interrupted by a quiet voice.

"Who is it that befouled this clearing so close to my dwelling?"

They turned to see an old man with a walking stick, surely the hermit Arthur referred to earlier, shuffling toward them. Arthur stepped forward to meet him.

"I am Arthur Pendragon. My friends and I were attacked here. We had no choice but to defend ourselves."

"Nevertheless, you have desecrated this site. For that, you must make restitution," the hermit declared ominously.

"What sort of restitution?" Arthur asked.

"A quest."

Gwaine opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur forestalled him with a motion.

Arthur questioned, "What is this quest?"

"There is a maiden imprisoned in a tower not far from here. She herself did no wrong, but her father tricked a sorcerer once. In revenge, the sorcerer took the daughter and held her against her will, and she has lived in solitude for the past two years. Your quest is to rescue her and restore her to her father."

"Very well," Arthur said. "Which way do we go?"

"Only one of you can go," the hermit cut in. "You cannot bring an entire contingent of guards to the tower's doors."

"Alright. Merlin, you and Gwaine stay here with the rest of the men and wait for my return," Arthur directed.

Both Merlin and Gwaine began to protest.

"Arthur, you don't know what is at the tower," Merlin argued. "It could be dangerous!"

"Yes, Merlin, quests generally are dangerous. But I don't see how you could help, seeing as you are always hiding in cupboards or behind trees."

"Let me go instead," Gwaine tried a different tact. "You are on a strict timeline."

"I appreciate the offer," Arthur replied. "But I still have two days, and this is my quest to take."

With that, he whistled for his horse and trotted off in the direction the hermit pointed out. After Arthur's departure, the hermit took his leave as well, saying he would return when Arthur returned with the maiden. Hours later, Gwaine and Merlin sat in silence, staring into the flames.

"I don't like this," Merlin confided. He felt he should have accompanied Arthur on this mysterious quest.

"Me neither," Gwaine agreed. He broke some branches and tossed them into the fire.

"Something's wrong. Or something is going to go wrong."

"Probably."

"I'm going after him."

"You heard the hermit. Only one of us was to go."

"Arthur's the one going on the quest. I'm just following him," Merlin said innocently.

"Merlin—" Gwaine began. He stopped when he realized that Merlin had set his mind to follow Arthur. "Well, you might need some help."

Merlin looked at his friend and gave a short laugh. They readied themselves for sleep, in order to follow Arthur when the sun rose.


	4. Of Lakes and Lances

Arthur guided his mount and soon came in view of the top of the tower in which the maiden was imprisoned. He was barely half a day's ride from the hermit's clearing. Perhaps this would be one of the easier quests.

Just when that thought crossed his mind, Arthur's confident smile dropped in dismay. He had been able to see the tower over the treetops for quite a while, but now that he had emerged from the forest, he found himself on the edge of a lake separating him from his destination. The hermit had evidently neglected to mention that the tower was located on an island in the middle of this lake.

Grimacing, the king dismounted and tied his horse to one of the trees at the edge of the forest. Then he stripped off most of his armor except for his mail shirt. The armor would hinder him if swimming became necessary, and Arthur had no wish to meet his end at the bottom of a lake.

Holding his sword in his right hand, Arthur began wading toward the tower. Gradually, the water rose first to his knees, then to his chest. At last, he was sure that should he take another step, he would plunge in over his head. Arthur shivered involuntarily but pushed on resolutely. He tensed in expectation of the plunge, but it never came. Instead, his foot met a solid ledge. He hesitantly brought his other foot onto the ledge and inched forward. The ledge seemed to hold his weight.

He looked down into the clear water to see how far the ledge extended, but to his surprise he saw nothing at all under his feet. His eyes told him he was standing on water, yet his feet told him he was very much on solid ground. Arthur slowly brought the tip of his sword under water and prodded for the ledge. The sword met nothing but water.

"Sorcery," he whispered. Uttering the word itself filled the air with tension, because he had been conditioned from childhood to detest the evil perpetrated by practitioners of magic. Every fiber in his being urged him to turn back, to avoid this dangerous sorcery. Yet he had given his word to attempt this quest, and go on he must. Arthur set his face toward the tower once more and reached the sandy banks of the island by means of the invisible ledge without incidence.

* * *

The next morning, Merlin woke Gwaine up as the sun emerged, spilling its rays over the forest without warming the air. They shook the dew off their clothing and mounted their horses, shivering slightly in their saddles. Gwaine wordlessly took the lead.

As the sun rose higher and began to chase the morning chill away, the two companions finally stirred from their thoughts.

"Remember the other time we followed Arthur on his quest?" Merlin asked.

"How can I forget?"

"We're always saving Arthur's life, aren't we?"

"You could say that again."

"And he never says a word of thanks!" Merlin tried to sound offended.

"He did to me, once."

"Really, when was that?"

"After he retrieved the trident. You were there, Merlin. Don't you remember?"

"Oh right. Well, I was supposed to forget the whole quest, seeing as Arthur claims I was never there in the first place."

Gwaine snorted but said nothing.

"You know, for someone who drinks so much ale, you remember a whole lot," Merlin commented.

This time, Gwaine laughed aloud.

"Some best friend you are," he said.

Merlin grinned and was about to reply when he spotted the shimmer of water ahead of them.

"What's that?" he asked.

They were greeted with the same sight that Arthur saw the day before, a shimmering lake surrounding an island, on which was perched a lonesome tower.

"Great," Gwaine muttered as he too began to take off his armor. Merlin, meanwhile, made his way to the edge of the lake. Despite Gwaine's warning to stop and let him go first, the servant began wading toward the island.

"I'm fine," Merlin called reassuringly.

Gwaine huffed and splashed his way toward Merlin until they were standing shoulder to shoulder. Merlin was the one whose foot hit the invisible ledge, and as that occurred, he felt the current of magic run through his entire body.

"Merlin?" he could feel Gwaine's inquiring look.

"Uh," he quickly put on a neutral expression. "I think there's a path here."

"Let's see," Gwaine moved over. "I don't see anything."

"No, but feel it."

Gwaine did, and his eyes widened.

"Sorcery."

Merlin nodded.

They made their way ashore and dried themselves as best they could before approaching the tower. A walled courtyard stood between them and the entrance to the tower. Through the raised gate they could see two figures mounted on horseback facing each other, holding jousting lances. As Merlin and Gwaine drew near, each rider raced toward his opponent and leveled his lance. Both found their marks and both knights were unseated.

"Arthur!" Merlin cried as he recognized one of the riders.

"Merlin, what are you doing here?" Arthur growled, picking himself up off the ground.

"Someone has to take care of your armor," Merlin quipped.

"Hello. Who are you?" a new voice joined the conversation. They turned to see the second rider clad in black armor making his way toward them. He was tall and broad in stature.

"This is my manservant, Merlin," Arthur said in introduction. "This is Sir Gwaine, one of my knights."

"Pleasure," the stranger said. "I am Pellinore, keeper of the island."

"You're the sorcerer holding the poor girl, then?" Gwaine demanded. Arthur inwardly sighed. Perhaps in addition to sword drills, tact should also be included as part of a knight's training.

"No, I am no sorcerer," Pellinore replied, not the least affronted. "I too am condemned on this island. My curse is to joust with all who would rescue the maiden. Many brave men have fallen by my hand."

Merlin noticed for the first time the dark circles under Arthur's eyes, and the weary sag of his shoulders.

"Have you been jousting since yesterday, Arthur?" he whispered furiously.

Arthur indicated he had been. He was growing fatigued, and he wondered at Pellinore, who by all accounts was considerably older and hence should not have been able to endure so many rounds of jousting.

"Enough talk," Pellinore broke into his thoughts. "Are you ready, my king?"

"I am ready when you are," Arthur replied with determination. He and Pellinore again mounted their horses and took their positions at opposite ends of the courtyard. A thundering of hooves and splintering of lances later, neither horseman was unseated.

"Arthur," Merlin said urgently, holding the horse's headstall. "You can't keep going on like this."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Merlin racked his brains but was forced to admit, "No, not at this moment."

"Are you ready?" Pellinore called. Arthur wheeled his horse around and took his position once again.

"Is he mad?" Gwaine whispered in Merlin's ear as Pellinore and Arthur galloped toward each other.

"Which one? Arthur or Pellinore?"

"Arthur."

"Sometimes I wonder that too."

They both winced as Pellinore's lance glanced off Arthur's chainmail and pierced a weak spot on his shoulder.

"You may have a brief reprieve to tend your injury," Pellinore said courteously and retreated to a corner of the courtyard.

Arthur could not help but grimace while Merlin tended his wound.

"This Pellinore is skilled," Gwaine commented.

"I don't understand. He should be exhausted by now," Arthur added. "Unless he has some spell of protection."

Merlin peered over Arthur's shoulder at Pellinore. The large man's armor glinted in the sunlight as he moved about, adjusting the straps on his horse. There was no fatigue in his step, no sign that he had been jousting since the day before. Yes, there was no doubt there was magic at work here. How to defeat him was the pressing question.

After Merlin dressed Arthur's wound as best he could, Arthur signaled to Pellinore that he was ready. The two rode swiftly toward each other, but this time Arthur was weakened from his injury. When Pellinore's lance struck him squarely in the chest, the king was unable to keep his hold on the reins and flew off his horse.

Merlin and Gwaine ran toward Arthur, who coughed and sat up.

"Are you alright, sire?" Merlin asked anxiously.

Arthur groaned, hand to his chest.

"Do you wish to challenge me again?" Pellinore shouted from near the tower, where he had taken up a guard position.

"I'm more of a swordsman myself," Gwaine declared as he unbuckled his sword. "But I will try my hand at this."

"Be careful, Gwaine," Arthur wheezed.

Gwaine flashed him a smile.

"Don't worry," he replied. "Pellinore resembles Percival in build. If they are anything alike, I know exactly what to do."

* * *

Sorry this latest update took so long. I am already at work on the next chapter and that one should be posted soon!


	5. Of Maidens and Questions

Percival smiled and dusted his hands. He stood and gave a sigh of satisfaction on surveying his finished handiwork. The freshly sanded scent of sawdust still hung in the air, drifting from the smooth, softly gleaming dresser. Reliable as always, Percival had completed his task in the allotted time and was awaiting Arthur's return.

Afternoon wore into evening and Sir Percival began to grow uneasy. Where was Arthur? After pondering for a moment, he gave the dresser a parting pat and made to follow the way Gwaine went three days ago. The dresser would be waiting for him when he returned, for it required a man of Percival's strength to shift it. No, the dresser would be safe. The same could not be said for his friends, though. They seemed to attract every magical creature and villainous individual found in the Five Kingdoms. But while he still had breath, he would safeguard them as best he could. So with every step he took, Percival drew closer to the hermit's clearing.

* * *

Leagues away, Merlin held his breath as Pellinore and Gwaine galloped at breakneck speed toward one another. He could almost hear Gaius whispering in his ear, _You have to do something, otherwise Gwaine will die!_ What could he do? Snap a harness strap? Cast a glare into the eye of Pellinore's horse? Throw the man off his mount entirely?

While Merlin was holding this internal debate, Gwaine too was having a conversation with himself. He had not been entirely truthful when he told Arthur he knew exactly what to do. He had a vague idea of the one occasion when Leon unseated Percival. Of course, Sir Leon was quite a bit taller than Gwaine, but surely that was not of much importance. One merely had to find the right opening and then hang on for dear life.

The thundering of hooves jerked him from his thoughts and he barely had time to steady his lance before clashing with his opponent. In a flash, both knights were unhorsed but generally unhurt.

"Just practicing," Gwaine called cheerfully. Arthur and Merlin exchanged glances and held their breaths once again.

Gwaine looked intently for an opening while Merlin also sought his. In a moment when Arthur was distracted, Merlin quickly whispered an incantation to counter the spell protecting Pellinore from fatigue. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut and turned slightly away, as if afraid to see the results. A loud crash indicated someone had clearly hit the ground.

Arthur gave an incredulous shout and turned to Merlin. When he saw his servant with his eyes closed, he rolled his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur called, a mocking tone in his voice. "It's alright. You can look now."

Merlin opened his eyes as Gwaine rode over to the prone Pellinore.

"Do you yield, sir?"

"Aye, with all my heart," Pellinore replied. He sprung up only to sit down heavily on the ground again.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur asked.

"No. I feel more alive than I had for years. The witch who condemned me to guard this island and maiden also cast an enchantment on me. But I feel its effects have worn off," Pellinore looked around wonderingly as he said this. "Perhaps it was my defeat at this knight's hand that liberated me!"

"Well, one could hardly say," Gwaine interjected. "Although I can certainly say I was the winner this time."

"It is your first time winning at jousting, that's for sure," Merlin whispered under his breath, knowing that once again someone else must take credit for his efforts.

"What's that, Merlin?" Gwaine turned toward him.

"Oh, nothing," Merlin quickly responded. "I was just saying we should look for the maiden."

At that, the three knights appeared suitably ashamed at having forgotten the lady, so caught up were they in the jousting and other knightly tasks. With Pellinore's help, they easily found the maiden, who almost swooned at the prospect of rescue by the handsome men who appeared at her door.

"Thank you, good sirs. Thank you," she could not help repeating. "You are the very flower of chivalry."

Her thanks was so profuse that the knights began to tire of it.

"We must restore you to your father with all due haste," Arthur insisted. "He must be anxious to see you."

"Yes, very anxious," Gwaine echoed, earning a glare from his king and a snicker from Merlin.

The maiden did not notice, or she pretended not to. When they reached the shore of the island, they encountered a new problem.

"However shall we cross this great expanse?" she exclaimed in dismay, leaning against Gwaine for support. Gwaine then looked pleadingly at Arthur, but it was Pellinore who saved the day.

"There is a small dinghy over yonder," he pointed at a distant pier. Of course, Merlin was sent to fetch the vessel, splashing himself in the process. To rub salt in the wound, so to speak, the maiden was given his horse to ride while Merlin himself trailed behind the party on foot until they reached the hermit's dwelling.

"Ah, the questing knights have returned!" the hermit announced. "With the maiden and Sir Pellinore, no less."

"I trust the restitution has been suitable, then?" Arthur said.

"Very much so," the hermit replied.

"And you, Pellinore, what will you do?" Arthur turned to the knight. "You can come back to Camelot with us and become a knight."

"I am much honored, but I cannot at this time," Pellinore declined politely. "There is a beast I seek, one that has eluded me all these years. If I find and slay it, then I shall come to your court."

Merlin, Gwaine, and Arthur bade him farewell as he disappeared into the forest's undergrowth. At that moment, Percival rode into the clearing.

"Percival! What are you doing here?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"It has been more than three days. I was worried something had befallen you."

Gwaine strode forward and grasped Percival's arm.

"You need not have worried. I had everything under control," he declared. "This questing business has made me hungry. Come, Percival."

As Arthur and his knights made their way toward where the rest of the escort was encamped, Merlin turned to look at the hermit one last time.

_Look after the king, Emrys, for that is your destiny._

Merlin shook his head to clear his mind. When he glanced at the hermit again, the man was no longer there.

* * *

"Sire, you have returned," Sir Leon, who had recovered from his illness, greeted the party in the courtyard.

"Yes, it was a most uneventful journey," Arthur replied. He leapt off his horse but could not hide his wince from Leon.

"Are you alright?" Leon asked, concerned.

"Fine," Arthur brushed him off. "A slight carpentry accident."

Leon glanced at Percival, who shrugged, innocence written on his features.

Lancelot also met them at the bottom of the steps to the castle. He and Gwaine ascended the steps together.

"I find it strange that Arthur bears a wound resembling a jousting injury," Lancelot observed. "How is dresser-making such a dangerous affair?"

"Lancelot," Gwaine said as he threw his arm amicably around the younger knight's shoulders. "A word of advice."

"Yes?" Lancelot, ever humble and eager to learn, turned expectantly.

"Don't ask so many questions," Gwaine laughed and turned the corner to the kitchen, leaving Lancelot shaking his head in the corridor.

* * *

When the last chapter was posted, I honestly did have parts of this chapter written already. But then final exams set in, computer problems happened, and all of a sudden it was mid-June! Thank you, faithful readers, for coming back and reading.


	6. Of Knights and Commoners

Takes place immediately after S3. I always wondered how the newly knighted men and Leon from the end of S3 became Arthur's version of the Merry Men at the beginning of S4. Here's one version of what could have transpired. A multi-chapter tale.

* * *

Elyan swept his gaze over his chamber, marveling at its echoing spaciousness. He was sitting on his bed, which only took up a small part of the room, at a loss how to cover the remaining floor space. The small cottage he had shared with his father and Gwen during his childhood was cozy and forcibly brought everyone together. They were literally living on top of each other. Now he felt exposed in his own room and wished the walls were not so far apart. At the same time, he felt trapped by the new weight of responsibility. A Knight of Camelot, indeed! Before reopening his deceased father's smithy, he had never stayed in one place for a very long time nor let anything tie him down. It was not cold, but Elyan shivered. He had entered a strange new world, strange even for a wandering commoner like him.

In the next room, Percival crossed his arms over his chest as he lay and inspected the ceiling. It was quality work, he concluded. Everything about Camelot exuded quality, from its food to its craftsmanship to its prince. He was rather skeptical of this Prince Arthur when Lancelot had described him, but the ease and respect with which Arthur greeted him with a clasping of the hand made a deep impression on Percival. A smile crept unbidden to his face. Yes, here was a person and a cause to which he could lend a hand. Now that Cenred was dead and his family avenged, a new chapter of his life was to begin.

The room after Percival's belonged to Lancelot, but he was not there. Lancelot was visiting Merlin in the physician's quarters.

Gwaine's chamber was the last in the hallway, and it too was empty, its owner occupying a seat at the tavern. The reflections of these two knights on their new roles in life would have to wait until later.

There was another Knight of the Round Table, however, whose residence was not with these four. Sir Leon's chamber had been his for as many years as he had been at Camelot. Weapons were in one corner, a dresser in another, and a small table in a third. Items were exactly where he placed them, and all was in order. That was how Sir Leon liked things, and the current state of affairs in Camelot was thus troubling him. He had watched Arthur mature in stature and character, and was somewhat amazed at the transformation over the past few years. He could not quite place his finger on it, but some time ago his view of Arthur had changed from dutiful obedience to genuine respect.

And now Arthur had gone and knighted four commoners. For sure, they were skillful with the blade; he had witnessed their swordsmanship and courage firsthand. But the people and the other knights, what would they think? Would they think Arthur enchanted by some spell? Would they accept these new men as comrades? Sir Leon wanted to, as Arthur had so readily accepted them. But whispers in the recesses of his mind restrained him from embracing them wholeheartedly. Too many changes too quickly can bring about the downfall of any kingdom. He sighed.

Arthur, unaware of the thoughts tumbling through the minds of his knights, frowned at the pile of documents and maps littering the table. They demanded his attention, but he had no energy left to attend to them. Uther weighed heavily on his consciousness. The strong, confident monarch he had always admired was no longer there. Somehow, Morgana's betrayal had broken his father and left behind a shell of a man. Perhaps Merlin was right; he needed to take things into his own hands as prince and rule in his father's stead. To do so would require sorting out the defenses of the kingdom and the various petitions of his subjects. Having just retaken Camelot and fought off an army of men who would not die, Arthur could not bring himself to ponder other domestic matters at the moment. He resolved that he, or rather Merlin, would deal with them the next morning.

* * *

"So you're finally a knight," Merlin said while righting the leech tank in Gaius' chambers. The physician's quarters had been ransacked during Morgana's occupation. Furniture was upended and various bottles and herbs were scattered around the room.

Lancelot smiled briefly before helping Merlin move some benches.

"Will you ever stop saying that? You said the same thing last night."

"I know," Merlin grinned. "But that was before we defeated the army of the living dead."

"You mean before you defeated them," Lancelot pointed out.

"Well," Merlin shrugged and grinned wider. "I had some help."

"Right. I was going to ask you, Merlin," Lancelot turned to Merlin with a serious look. "Where did you get that sword that you said was forged in a dragon's breath?"

Merlin froze. He wanted to tell Lancelot, to have someone know about the sword and the lady in the lake. There was no one else, except maybe Gaius, to whom he could entrust these secrets. After all, Lancelot already knew about his magic and had proven himself time and again to be a trustworthy friend.

"Merlin? What is it?" Lancelot studied him carefully.

The warlock hid his inner turmoil behind a cheerful smile. Tonight was not the right time, he decided.

"Maybe I will tell you one day," he replied.

Before Lancelot could protest, he quickly changed the subject.

"How is your wound?"

If Lancelot noticed the abrupt shift in conversation, he did not comment on it. Merlin would reveal his secret when he was ready, but before that, no one could force him to disclose it, not even Lancelot.

"It pains me a little, but it will heal in time."

"Still, riding out after the battle could not have done it any good," Merlin commented.

Lancelot stiffened but forced himself to relax.

"It was my duty as a knight to escort Gwen—Guinevere, safely back to Camelot," he stated.

Both Merlin and Lancelot knew it was not duty that drove Lancelot to form part of the company that returned to the ruins to retrieve Gwen. After all, he had a deep injury and could not use his sword arm properly, and Arthur would have understood if he had excused himself. Nay, it was not duty but an inexplicable devotion to the woman who had given him purpose and hope in life when he had none. _As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade¸ _she had said. And he in turn would die for her one hundred times if he could. For Gwen, he would do anything. For her safety and happiness, he would give his life. If that meant helping Arthur regain Camelot, and watching from afar as the prince and the woman he loved embrace, he would do it.

Merlin quietly observed the emotions flitting across his friend's face. Finally, he spoke.

"Last night, you said I was the bravest of us all. I think you are the noblest of us all."

Lancelot naturally disagreed and said things to that effect, but only absentmindedly. His thoughts were elsewhere. Yes, perhaps there was nobility in his character, but that would not make it any easier when he sees Gwen and Arthur day after day in the citadel. He had come to Camelot's aid at Merlin's request, but he realized he was staying because of Gwen. No, he would not come between her and Arthur. It was not in his nature to do so. Rather, he could not bear to tear himself away, could not bear the thought of not being there if she needed him.

Merlin realized he had lost his friend to his thoughts and left him alone. There would be time enough in the future to discuss these matters, he was sure. As the moon gradually rose higher in the sky, two young men with their broken hearts silently put the room in order, while an old one sat unnoticed behind a screen and felt his own heart ache for them.


End file.
